Faithful
by Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena
Summary: When all-out war breaks out between Russia and America, there are those who must remain faithful to the course that they themselves had chosen, forming alliances based upon brotherhood and the notion that peace will come one day. Sequel to Beautiful, RNR!
1. Faithful

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Loyalist Base, near the Caucasus Mountains.

* * *

It was one of those times, when MacTavish secretly suspected if Kamarov had a sixth sense of knowing when any single one of his comrades were either dead or dying. Five years ago, his men had come to his own rescue in the Altay Mountains, while he had been the one who had removed Anya from the FSB's clutches in the nick of time. And now, he had saved Ghost and Roach from sudden death at the hands of Shepherd.

"Very difficult to bring the two of them back," Kamarov said, shaking his head as he looked at the two of his subordinates with Price. "But they are almost as resilient as Anya, it seems…" Anya… that girl could have lived, but she had chosen death at the end, after fighting so hard to survive. "Speaking of Anya, where is she?"

MacTavish put a hand on Kamarov's shoulder and said, "She's gone, mate. Killed herself, right after she killed Shepherd."

After hearing those words, Kamarov just sighed. "At least it is a fate that she had chosen for herself," he replied. Anya was strong, there was no doubt about it, but there was this sense of… conflict rooted deep within her, so much so that she needed to be free of it. "Those nightmares would have driven her to the brink, anyways."

"Nightmares?" it was Price's turn to ask. "What nightmares?" He had not known about Anya having any nightmares at all… "How bad were they?"

"Bad enough that my doctors had to prescribe some powerful sedatives to calm her down after," Kamarov answered. "When she left us, we told them that they were painkillers for her wounds." He did not know what she had seen, but he knew that they had brought her much pain. But still, those nightmares were ones that she had claimed for herself… She knew that it was the risk that she had to take when she had taken Shepherd's offer… "Well, it is too late to talk about the dead now, my friends. Anya is now in a better place. We need to focus on the living."

The living… It was a sheer miracle that Ghost and Roach survived. "Let's hope that Anya would watch over them," Price said, especially Roach. That boy was one of the unluckiest soldiers that he had ever seen, and still, he could make it out alive… "Especially when we have things to do."

* * *

The sleek Porsche Carerra came to halt before the one of the many ancient structures in the Kremlin, where the doors there would lead him to the shortest way to the President's meeting room. Although it appeared as if he was of little importance now that the Ultranationalists had seized power from the Loyalists, he had been there so many times that he could memorize the actual number of windows in that place.

He could remember, the very day he had been "ousted" out of the that very meeting room, but it had seemed so long ago. Heck, the past three days had been an eternity for him…_ Don't worry, Makarov,_ he seemed to hear her voice in his mind, as seductive as the first moment he had met her. _You have all of them wound around your finger. Knock'em dead, tiger._

His footsteps, they remained as calm as ever as he started to stride deeper and deeper into the vast complex of antique chambers, now armed with the latest array of security technology. This _was_ the residence of the President of Russia, after all. When he stopped, he was faced before a set of ornate double-doors, guarded by two men in suits.

They did not need telling who he was. Quickly removing the M9 from his jacket pocket and setting it on the nearby table, he nodded to them. There was also no need for Makarov to do anything else, because one of them knowingly entered the room beyond the golden-hued doors to alert those that were inside.

Just a little more… Just a little more and he would not have to face those bureaucratic fools in that room…

"Sir, Makarov is here," Vorshevsky's aide spoke into his ear. The President of Russia immediately stiffened. That man, was more than a monster with a highly specialized brain for warfare and terror. This man was the reason why he has a seat of power in the Kremlin, and the main reason why the Ultranationalists have a stranglehold on Mother Russia as a whole… This man had deceived the world into thinking that he was only a mere terrorist, but he knew, that one day, Makarov would unleash his true talents.

And now, now that his little agent, Maria Allen had died, it seems that Makarov seemed more eager to shed his role in the shadows. Now that Shepherd was gone, there was no one that could stop him, and that was when Makarov would seize control, he just knew it. But what was about that girl that had garnered such a change for Makarov?

"I apologize for my tardiness, gentlemen," Makarov said after bursting into the meeting room. "But the funeral affairs of the dead must be completed." He did not need to explain further, all of them would have known anyways. This man had harbored the woman sent to leak information regarding their operations back into the United States, and he had the audacity to come back to them… Only Vorshevsky knew why he had kept her by his side, and only the President knew that "Anya" was more than just an agent for his use.

One of the men sitting at the table, the Minister of Defense, was not pleased. "Vladimir, we heard that you had personally protected Maria Allen from the US CIA," he said. "Have you gone crazy, or do you not know the meaning of danger?"

Makarov rolled his eyes. "She was the one who removed Shepherd for us at the cost of her life, Ivan," he replied. "I suggest that you speak of her with a little more respect." In truth, he had already expected such a reaction from that man. He was careful, and even more distrustful of others as he had been. "Our goals coincided with one another, and I saw no reason why we should not work together."

"Rumor has it that that you have even acquired a little lover to warm your bed," another voice was heard saying. Makarov would rather forget who that person was. "Too bad, we did not have a chance to get to know her…"

Vorshevsky knew it would take much more that a snide remark to take Makarov down. "Kurkov, please," he chided, and the man immediately stopped. "Allen had done us a great favor, and we should not tarnish her memory with any more harsh words." Still, there were men in that very room who still did not know the nature of their own party's affairs, and yet, they were all part of the "inner circle" of the Ultranationalists, which Makarov had been supposedly ousted from.

"Alright, let us cut to the chase then," Ivan said, standing up from his seat. "Why are you here, Makarov, and what you do want?"

"Full command of our armies, Ivan," Makarov answered simply. "With that EMP in Washington DC, the Americans have managed to even the scales, and stop our forces there from taking the White House. Without a doubt, they will now start to drive us back, and try to burn Moscow within an inch of her life." And that was what they could not afford. The one weakness of Russia now, was that once you rule Moscow, you rule all of Russia, because of the scattered population of the country. It was what they could not allow to happen.

Silence crowded the room immediately, just how Makarov liked it. Walking towards the seat that should have been his, and had not been filled since five years ago, he looked at each and every single one of them. He knew that they were hanging onto his every single word. "Have you ever heard of the wise saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend?" he asked them again. "If you wish for me to slaughter every American son who dares to defile our Great Mother, then I shall need full command of our armies, not limited to the Spetsnaz."

"And how confidant you are of yourself that you can win this war?" one of them asked. A very good question indeed… or so he had thought.

He could only shake his head. "Understand that whatever we try to do, the army of the United States of America is still the strongest military force there is," he replied. "After all of you have so foolishly concluded that you would just march into the East Coast as retaliation for the attack on Zakhaev International Airport… You might as well have handed Moscow to them in a red ribbon. What we can do, is to stop them from taking Moscow."

They did not even know that it was he who attacked the airport, those ignorant fools. The only one there who knew, was Vorshevsky, as well as Viktor and Anatoly, who could never be bought from him anyways. Makarov had contacted him regarding Shepherd's offer, and Vorshevsky was almost certain that he would have expected Russia's armies to just invade the United States the very moment Allen's identity had been confirmed, given the tensions between both countries.

Each one of the men in that room started to bob their heads and nod one by one… It took very, very little to convince them, indeed. With a few more well-placed sentences, a few maleficent glares here and there, and it would be a done deal. "Gentlemen, I will head into the battlefield myself if I have to," Makarov added. He had always been a field man. Every single one of his operations had been carried out personally, unlike _others_ he could easily name.

Of course, they knew of his military capabilities, which were only beginning to peak during the last days of the Soviet Union. He had graduated from a prestigious military academy, and had caught the eye of Imran Zakhaev very, very early on. However, it was only when he had joined the Ultranationalists that he had showed his true talent, not only in military pursuits, but was also highly well-versed with the twists and turns of the underworld. This man was able to source illegal weapons, and somehow or other, they would emerge to be perfectly legal when provided to the Government… Alejandro Rojas' arms deal with him was a fine example of this.

Cold precision, heartless bravado and utter determination made this man who he was. They knew that they had no other choice, because he had been the perfect candidate for the job. Knowing the Spetsnaz, they would follow this supposed-madman to the very brink of the world, while he was the one who had moulded the image of the Ultranationalists from being mere terrorists and political dissidents to the protectors of Russia…

"Does anyone have anything to say against Vladimir?" Vorshevsky asked. Once Makarov had set his eyes on something that he wanted, there was nothing that could stop him. This had always been the truth. "Very well, from tomorrow morning, he shall be the Supreme Commander of the army, his former military ranks recovered."

Makarov merely nodded. This was only the first step to a greater beginning. Anya's vengeance might have ended, but that of his own, had not. He would make sure that the Americans would think twice before ever trying to test the full anger of Russia, it had been fully roused.

"Make sure that you do not disappoint us, Vladimir," Vorshevsky added, his words all for mere show. "The hopes of Mother Russia rest upon your shoulders now."

"Oh, you know me so well," Makarov replied, slightly rolling his eyes.


	2. Awakening

"Hey, it's time to wake up, you know…"

Roach pried open his eyes, and found Anya right before him. Looking around his surroundings, he found that he was in a white room, on a hospital bed, with a window looking towards the Caucasus Mountains. She, on the other hand, looked different, as if she no longer had a care in the world, more beautiful than he ever remembered her to be, and that was not a very long time ago.

"How long have I been out?" he asked her, expecting her to know an answer, and only raised his eyebrow when she shrugged for an answer. She only told him that she had just reached the hospital where he was in, and had not seen their other teammates. Knowing this, Roach decided to try a different question, "What happened to you guys at the Boneyard?"

Anya only smiled, and sat down next to him on the edge of his bed. "Many things, Roach, where would you want me to start?" She told him how they had cornered Makarov's forces, and how she had met him right there and then in the Boneyard, without doing anything. She told him that Makarov could not kill her, and they went their separate ways before Shepherd's auxiliary force, the Shadow Company back-handed them by opening fire upon them. That was when Price had commed the others in the Caucasus Mountains, hoping that they would receive the message before they handed the DSM to Shepherd, but only in vain.

Roach listened to her, word for word, taking everything that he could. That part, he remembered well. Most of their team who had tried to storm Makarov's safehouse had died, owing to the enemy's superior numbers and greater firepower. But no matter what the outcome of that exchange was, the greatest wound of all was knowing that Shepherd betrayed them. The man had shot him and Ghost, just seconds after they had given him the DSM without so much of a word. "What did you guys to do that bastard?" he asked her, when she stopped her tale, looking out towards the window.

"I killed him," Anya answered rather bluntly. "Is that a good enough answer for you?"

Roach nodded, and heaved a sigh of relief. He never could imagine that Shepherd was the one behind all this. He was the one that they had trusted with their lives, although his treatment towards the soldiers under his command was a little… questionable. However, he could sense that Anya was not being completely honest. "Anya, is there something else that you want to tell me?" he asked her, receiving only her ambiguous smile as an answer.

"They will tell you what they can," she told him, turning to leave. "And now, I have to go. I can't stay here for long."

"Where are you going?" Roach asked, more than a little puzzled. "I thought that you're with us!"

Anya only shook her head, saying, "I was never who you thought I was, Roach. When you know more about me, I hope that you'd understand that I did what I did because I had no other choice. Goodbye, Roach. I hope that you won't do anything that you'll regret. But then again, you most probably won't."

* * *

After having said thus, she went out the door, leaving his world to return to the black darkness of the abyss. However, it was not as empty as it had been. He began to hear voices, some in Russian, others in English, and a few, he knew he could recognize. There was MacTavish and Price, Toad and Archer as well…

What was going on? Wasn't he already awake?

He opened his eyes once again, and found himself to be in that exact same spot as he thought he had been… Strange… However, it mattered little now. The important thing was that he could see all of the men standing right before him, and they, looked rather pleased to see him awake too.

"We were goddamned worried about you, you little bugger!" Archer cursed, almost slapping him on the back when he sat up.

"Them Loyalists pumped _two liters_ of blood into your system!" Toad added, while MacTavish and Price just looked at them jumping all over Roach in glee. There was another guy next to the two Captains, a Russian, by the looks of him. Wait a minute, Loyalists? They were still active?

It took the celebration a good ten minutes to end, and when it did, MacTavish cleared his throat and petted Roach on the back after he had been introduced to Sergeant Kamarov, the de facto leader of what remained of the Loyalist movement. "Good to see you, mate," he said, never one for words. He knew, that Roach had been expecting others as well. "Ghost is in the other room, resting. He's woken up a few hours ago…"

"Where's Anya?" Roach asked. It was strange, but he and Anya just, well, clicked, even when they just met. She had been a US Army Ranger like him, and not only that, they were about the same age, although it seemed that she had a brighter future than he did… "She killed Shepherd, didn't she?"

A sordid silence passed the room, so thick that one could cut it with a knife. "Roach," Price said in a rather serious tone. "I don't know how you got to know that, but Anya's not with us anymore, son… she's dead."

Dead, that was impossible. He just saw her a few minutes ago! What was going on there? "She killed herself," MacTavish added solemnly. "I know that you got on with her quite well, but that's the truth. Not even Makarov could convince her…" He remembered that day clearly. A few hours after he and Price had left with Nikolai, Makarov had contacted them, informing them of Anya's fate. It had been a shock to him as well, but the greater shock was Makarov's choice of words in which he used to address her.

* * *

_The woman I love is dead, she found no will to live, after what she had strived so hard to achieve has been done. I know that she would have wanted you to know this, so that you would not worry over her_…

* * *

Never in his life could MacTavish imagine that Makarov and Anya would ever be together, but he knew that everything happened for a reason, and did not question it. It was their business anyways, however it did explain why she did not allow him to arrest Makarov that day…

"Well, at least she's in a better place," Roach said, still puzzled as to how he managed to see Anya, even if it had been a figment of his imagination, it was impossible that he could have known that she killed Shepherd without the others telling him. "When's the funeral?"

"They cremated her," Price replied. It was the wisest thing to do, with the heat of the desert accelerating decay and whatnot. Although it was a pity that they could not attend her funeral, life had to move on, and they had a war still going on. "And now that you're up and ready, it's time to get the bad news."

Price, being, Price, looked towards MacTavish, who rolled his eyes. "Makarov is now the Supreme Commander of the Russian Armies, and he's announced that he's gonna kill every single foreign son that dares to enter Moscow in retaliation of the invasion in America," he told Roach with an eerie calm. "Turns out that he really wasn't in dispute with the rest of the Ultranationalists."

"You mean that they're in this together?" Roach asked. On the surface, Makarov seemed to be acting against the current Ultranationalist government, deeming them to be traitors of the late Imran Zakhaev's vision, and now, it turned out to be a total farce. "So we've all fought this guy for nothing?"

Once again, silence coursed through the room. The Task Force 141 had been formed with only one purpose, which was to take out the any terrorist threat Russia would throw at the world. As the Ultranationalists grew stronger in Russia, so did the threat that was Vladimir Makarov… Never in his life had he realized that Makarov was actually still loyal to the Ultranationalist cause, or that the Ultranationalists still saw that Makarov was one of their leaders.

"Anya saw through everything," the Loyalist added. "She went to Makarov, three days after she awakened, before she returned to you boys…" He had always applauded Anya for her bravery and daring to even side with the supposed enemy to have her own revenge against the man that betrayed her, but he, like most of the people that heard her tale, could not believe that she would fall in love with Makarov.

And then, something hit Roach. "Does this mean that she's the sniper that killed Meat and Royce?" he asked the rest of them, while MacTavish looked as if he had been suddenly enlightened. It all made sense, perfect sense now. They had been deployed in Rio de Janeiro four days _after_ the fiasco in the airport. This, when added to the fact that Anya was already a highly accomplished sniper, and none of the Brazillian militia had been armed with Barett .50cals…

"She was already working for Makarov before she came back," MacTavish explained, confirming Roach's theory. He remembered how angry he had been at Anya, but she was now dead, and that was that. "Her presence was supposed to increase our suspicions towards Shepherd… We should have seen it coming sooner." Her reluctance to report to Shepherd initially, and her seemingly fiery responses aimed towards Shepherd when he confronted them about their "rogue mission", and that Shepherd himself had been a little too careful about her before all of them…

Roach looked at every single one of them, searching for something other than news of who was betraying whom. However, something caught his eye. It was a butterfly, with yellow-gold wings, and dark blue circles on each of its wings… He had never seen a butterfly in these sort of colors before, and in that time of year, in that size. In fact, it reminded him highly of Anya, somehow or other.

Toad noted the presence of the butterfly, and said, "I saw that on a documentary this morning. It's a new species, apparently, found here and in Afghanistan." It was quite a beautiful thing, and seemed to understand the humans around it. As soon as it knew that there were many eyes focusing upon it, it fluttered about, as if showing off its own beauty. "Pretty little thing, isn't it?"

"It is," Ghost replied. As always, no one had notice him come into the room. God knew since when he had been there, and whether if he had heard everything that they told Roach, but it seemed like he did. "So, what are we gonna do now?" he asked. "Obviously, we owe it to Anya for stopping Shepherd, but what next? We take down Makarov?"

In all honesty, that was a really, really good question. Now that Makarov had stepped into the light all by himself, their original missions and plans had all changed. All of a sudden, their lists of enemies had increased, turning into all of Russia herself, while their allies, they were growing thinner and thinner by the minute. They needed a plan, and they needed it fast.

MacTavish knew the risks that they could have taken. Thanks to Shepherd, most of the Task Force 141 had been killed, and the survivors, branded as war-criminals for the assassination of Shepherd as long as "other war crimes", including the EMP above Washington DC, those ungrateful bastards. With Anya originally branded dead and the perpetrator of the war, the US had no choice but to put the blame on them… And even if Kamarov gave them the full support of the Loyalists, they would be met with about a thousand to one if they met in the battlefield, it would be utter suicide.

"Does anyone _not_ want this stupid war to end?" Roach asked all of the others. There just had to be something that they could do, anything…

And then, a stroke of luck, a light at the end of the tunnel. A Loyalist soldier burst into the room and whispered something to Kamarov, whose expression brightened immediately. "We have good news, gentlemen," the Russian said. "It seems that Anya is indeed watching over us. There is a man from the US army that wishes to negotiate with each one of you."

* * *

HAN: MW2LVR- Thanks dear! Hope you enjoy this one too!


	3. Dreams

It had been a long, long time since he had come into his penthouse in the center of Moscow's financial district, a luxurious, yet somewhat Spartan establishment that even Viktor and Anatoly had often seen. Being the man that he was, the only other person who could have entered his own home more often than he did, was the housekeeper than he had hired. Everything was as it had left it, save for the addition of the black, matte urn.

The very moment he had returned to Russia, he had the only photograph that he had of her translated onto the surface of the urn, taken just before she headed out to Petropavlosk to rejoin the Task Force 141. It had been a candid shot, one taken when she was looking towards the stars in the twilight sky. It was taken in black and white, but still, it captured her beauty, and her fiery soul…

"You do not know how much I miss you already, my love," he said to the unmoving image on the urn, as though she could hear him, and of course, there would be no reply… He had seen through her cremation himself, and had been the one who gathered her ashes into the urn that was now on his mantelpiece, it was impossible that she would even answer him.

And thus, he spent the night looking at the urn as he sat upon the couch, with only the fire in the fireplace illuminating the entire penthouse. Hours passed, and soon, he heard footsteps, coming from the upstairs where the bedrooms were… Strange, he was the only occupant of the penthouse, who else was sleeping there?

Slowly, he reached for the M9 pistol in his jacket pocket, only to find two children, a boy and a girl, walking down the stairs in matching pajamas. His weapon remained where it had been, but his eyes, those heterochromic eyes, they widened when he looked at the children's faces. The girl, she looked exactly like Anya, albeit with dark hair, while the boy, he had to admit, resembled him in every way, down to the heterochomia…

"Daddy, you said to wake us up at midnight," the girl said, rubbing her eyes, eyes that were undeniably Anya's. "It's Mummy's birthday, remember?"

"Yeah, you said that we'll surprise her!" the boy added, almost excitedly.

The two of them, they were roughly the same height and age, yes, they were twins, Makarov decided in his mind. "Alright," he said, not knowing what to do. In all truth, he did not know when her birthday was, and found it to be highly ironic. He could delve into the deepest vestiges of her mind, and he could dispel all of her darkest nightmares… He even knew that she had been studying to be a doctor before she joined the army, but he did not know when her birthday was.

The girl looked at his confused expression and covered her mouth, almost in shock. "Daddy, don't tell me you forgot!" she exclaimed, aghast by her realization. "How could you?"

"That is why I have you to help me remember these things," he told her, petting her on the head. "Now, let us not keep your mother waiting." Taking their hands, he led them upstairs to his room, no, his and Anya's room, if the world had been perfect. There Anya was, sleeping soundly, her golden hair spilling all over the place like golden rivers. Placing his fingers to his lips, he told the children to tread silently, and so they did.

The boy and the girl, they crept as softly as possible onto the bed, followed by him, but just as he was about to kiss her on the temple, he felt a Desert Eagle being held against his cheek. "Go. Away. Vladimir. Makarov," she growled menacingly, not knowing that their children was there, her sapphire eyes, they were not even open, to say the least.

"Surprise!" the children shouted, causing her to bolt her eyes open and smile the brightest smile that he had ever seen. "Happy Birthday, Mummy!" She hugged them and thanked them profusely, laughing as the jumped all over the bed singing "Happy Birthday" to her.

Makarov stood back and watched as it all happened, knowing that this was not possible, telling himself, that it was all but the figment of his imagination, but still, nothing had changed. Anya quickly sent the children back to their rooms, and when she returned, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "This must be your idea," she said to him, smiling her usual smile. "Thank you, Vladimir."

"Anything for you, my love," he replied, kissing the top of his nose. She rolled her sapphire eyes at his words, and told him that after almost eight years of marriage, he still was that corny with her. "I cannot help it, Anya," he added. "I look at you, and these words just flow out of my mouth without going through my brain."

Anya chuckled, and clicked her tongue. "Perhaps I should be thankful, then," she said, leading him back onto the bed after helping him to take off his shirt and his jacket. "I have a husband who loves me, beautiful children, and not a single nightmare, since you stopped the war."

"We, Anya," he corrected her. Wait a second, how the hell did he know that? "You had a part in our victory as well, my love." She shook her head, raising her head for a kiss that he readily granted. And when the kiss broke, she told him that all she had ever done was to start the war, and take out the American general responsible, while he had taken full command of the Russian army and managed to stop the Americans from staging a full retaliation. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad that you didn't decide to take your own life that day."

She nodded, and clung onto him tighter. "I'm glad that you talked me out of it," she replied, planting a small kiss onto his jaw. There she was, thanking him for everything had he had given her yet again. Almost tired of it, Makarov placed his finger upon her lips, and silenced her. "Vladimir…" she whimpered, just as he pressed his lips against hers.

Makarov did not give her any chance to speak again, leaning her back onto the bed, he wound his fingers in her long, golden hair and began to assault her with kisses that only increased in a sort of possessive passion, and was met with the same treatment on her part. The two of them were made for one another, without a doubt.

Her sapphire eyes, they were glazed with desire as she turned over, pinning him below her. "And as for punishment for waking me up in the middle of the night…" she said, tracing a finger down his naked chest, her smile turning into something more seductive, something meant only for his eyes. She whispered something into his ear, but it was so soft that he could not hear it, he told her to repeat what she said again and again, but still, he couldn't hear anything…

"I will say this one last time, Vladimir," she told him, her expression changing from one of seduction, to one of bittersweet parting. He knew that expression. He knew it well, he had seen it but three days ago. "I will cease to exist, and remain only a memory. I love you…"

With those words, she kissed his forehead and bid him farewell. It was already dawn, and a new day had already come. Makarov picked himself up from the couch, and groaned. What he would not give for what he had just seen to come true… However, he knew it was nothing more than a dream, nothing more than what his mind had cooked up to put himself to be more at ease…

He moved upstairs, and found not the twins that he had seen the previous night, but there in his room, was a butterfly which seemed to have flown in from the window that he had forgotten to close. And the most peculiar thing was, that it perched right where he had seen Anya last night. The butterfly flew around the penthouse, landing on the urn for a little while, and flew away from yet another window…

After a quick shower, he decided to look into Anya's files, remembering that Shepherd had given them to him a few weeks ago. And lo and behold, it was her birthday indeed. The human mind works in wondrous ways, he mused to himself, knowing that he must have seen that date before.

Anya… he wondered where she had been waiting for him… Was it in hell, or was it in heaven? True enough, he could not answer that question, not even to himself. Perhaps she was somewhere in between, in a field of wild flowers… Roses… she seemed to have shown some indication that she liked roses, when her eyes lingered over one of the rose bushes in his safehouse…

* * *

"_If that is what you wish to see, then so be it," she said, watching him from her little window that linked her to the world that she had just left. It had been three days since she had came to this strange little plane of existence, where she knew she would be waiting for him… Time stood still there, and everything was immortal, unless she wished it to be._

_With the wave of her hand, she had changed the surroundings from an evergreen, mountainous valley that reminded her of the location of his safehouse into the field of flowers that he had just imagined. She knew that she should not have tortured him so, but she knew that he was still in mourning, that in his heart, he wanted to see her again. That was why she had sent one of her butterflies to create that dream for him…_

_In truth, she wanted what he had seen to be real as well, but she could not, out of duty and for her own selfishness. She was only 22 this year, most young women her age were only just finishing college… She had graduated a year and a half ago, and immediately joined the Army Rangers, who knew, that her young life would end so early?_

_As she watched Makarov get into his Porsche Carrera, yet another butterfly that she had sent out returned to her, landing upon her outstretched palm. "And what do you want to tell me?" she asked it as it fluttered its wing softly, and changed the images on the window. _

_Ah, she knew that place. It was the Loyalist camp near the Caucasus Mountains. Gently causing the window to expand, she watched them, as she had watched Makarov for the past three days, knowing that whatever they had decided, it would change the order of things, just as Makarov's choices had.

* * *

_

The helicopter had descended onto the Loyalist base, revealing a tall man with dark hair, by the looks of him. "Captain MacTavish, Captain Price, it's an honor to finally meet you," the man said to MacTavish and Price, shaking each of their hands rather warmly. "I'm codename Raptor, and I think that I have a deal that all of you cannot refuse."

"I think that we should get inside, Raptor," Price said, not really wanting to trust the American at this point of time. However, it seemed that this man knew what he was talking about, and if he was able to track them right to the Loyalist camp… His arms might have had a long reach indeed. "We'll talk it over some hot coffee. You look like you need some."

Ten minutes, and a round of coffee later, it seemed that Price and MacTavish seemed to be a little more at ease with this man. "I know that the Task Force 141 was created by Shepherd and several other military leaders, and I know that your late teammate, Maria Allen only recently just died, not a week ago, like what the world was told. The bottom-line: the CIA already knows what Shepherd has done, and the US government is willing to make an exchange. Your freedom, for your participation in the US invasion of Moscow."

"We'll do it!"

Those words, they did not come from the two Captains, but from various voices. It had been Ghost, Archer, Toad and Roach. Shrugging, MacTavish looked at Raptor. "You heard the boys," he said, "All of us are in with this…"

* * *

_She knew the rest of them had agreed with even considering their chances against the Russian Army. The Task Force 141 had been formed to ensure that Russia would not threaten the world's peace, and now that it had raised its armies against the United States of America, she was sure that the Task Force 141 would give every opportunity to redeem themselves before the eyes of the world. _

_And she knew, that this time, it would be a full-scale clash between the two countries. Russia might have unleashed its full fury against America, but she knew, that America, was not as weak as Russia would have thought she had been. _

"_Go back to that place," she told the butterflies around her. "Tell Makarov and the 141 that I wish them luck." Scores and scores of butterflies took flight at her words, and they flew right through the window to pass her words. _


	4. Strategies

Roach could not believe it. That man with MacTavish and Price over there, he told them that they would clear all their names if they would fight in the American counter-invasion on Moscow. That would tip the scales in their favor more than they could ever imagine, from six guys with suicide intent against the fury of a great nation, they had become six guys with suicide intent _with_ and _against_ the fury of two great nations, America and Russia respectively.

"We'll do it," they chorused even before the two Captains managed to say anything, effectively sealing the deal. It was important that no one got them wrong, they had nothing to do against Russia. It was just that most of them had spent the last few years in the 141, carrying out missions all around the world, for the sole purpose of removing the terrorist threats of the Ultranationalists. Well, now that it was out in the open that Makarov's terrorist attacks were all done under the Ultranationalist, banner, they might as well take down Ultranationalist Russia as well.

Codename Raptor looked at all of them and nodded. "Good to have you all," he told them, "And of course, we welcome any Loyalist help as well." America, the UK and the Loyalists had fought side by side five years ago, and they would never forget the old alliances that they had forged, more than the enemies that they had made.

"We would be honored, Raptor," Kamarov replied. In truth, he knew that his own forces would be too miniscule against the Ultranationalists if they had fought alone. Now when the Ultranationalists were the rulers, they had become the so-called terrorists in the eyes of their own countryman. At first, he thought it had been but a small price to pay, but he could see clearly that they were not going anywhere at all. Even if they were practically welcoming the Americans into their own base, and he knew that they would not receive anything else in return except a share of the loss, the pain and the blood, it would be worth it, seeing that their previous efforts would not be wasted.

It was decided then and there, that the Loyalist base would temporarily house whatever American forces that would to Russia. They would be moved from various countries bordering Russia, all too small to dare to enrage America further than Russia already had. Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Georgia and even China…

"And now, we must think of a way to defend this base as best we can," Price concluded, looking at the maps all around them. Not too long ago, Anya had told them that Makarov had been aware of the base's location, even the Loyalist spies within the Ultranationalists, but he had not given them two hoots due to their non-threatening nature. However, that did not mean that he would not act now. The man had deceived the world for almost a decade; his movements could never be seen or read unless he revealed them. Nevertheless, Price was not Makarov's prisoner for five years for nothing. From the few times he had seen Makarov, and whatever dealings they had the previous week, he could more or less try to guess what Makarov would do next.

* * *

Makarov looked at the map laid out before him. About a week ago, the Russian Army had failed to retrieve codename Raptor, the man who has ties with the CIA, and now that the man was free to roam through the ranks of the US top government agencies, and liaise with its Armed Forces, he knew that there was only one thing that he would do. He would seek out the Task Force 141, and recruit them to aid the American armies.

His brushes with the Task Force 141 was not limited to Anya's failed infiltration, their hunt of Alejandro Rojas, and whatever transpired in Petropavlosk, as well as the raid upon his safehouse, and the confrontation between his Spetsnaz, Anya, Price and MacTavish in the Boneyard. For the past five years, the Task Force 141 had shadowed his footsteps, although he had not known who they were in the first place… All of them had been highly trained, and were highly specialized in whatever form they had chose to take. Anya was a great personification of this, a talented sniper despite her age.

And how could he not forget Price and MacTavish? The Task Force 141 seemed to favor their marksmen, for the two Captains, they were extremely proficient in this field as well. Price, he had been the sniper who took Zakhaev's arm, while MacTavish had killed Zakhaev himself. Both men, they were leaders who would command unusual amounts of respect from their subordinates, and he knew that they would not let him just trample over the American forces so easily.

And then, there was Sergeant Kamarov as well. Funnily enough, their last names were anagrams to one another, but there was where similarities between them ended. Kamarov, he might have been able to plant spies into the Ultranationalists, but there had been hardly any subtleties in his part. However, he had to commend that man for being able to persevere for so long, that he still carried hope that one day, the Loyalists would once again triumph in Russia. It was a fool's hope, but still, it was hope, nonetheless.

Alone, they did not pose a great threat at all, but when combined, he knew that the effects were disastrous. And, if his own Intel was to be trusted at all, Codename Raptor was in Russia already, his intentions clearer than ever. It was a no-brainer that he would try to gather the Task Force 141 back into the American armed forces… And given their previous relationships with the Loyalists, there was no doubt that they would follow the 141 as well, providing them with a base of operations.

"General Makarov, you have a call from the President, sir," said a soldier to him after knocking briefly on the door to his office. "He wants to know what your first course of action is."

General… no one had ever called him that before. But it was just as well… There had to be a start for everything, Pushing a key on his keyboard, the image of Boris Vorshevsky's face appeared upon his computer screen, and he was ready to talk to his old friend. "Boris, aren't we anxious this morning?" he asked, rather sarcastically.

"We received Intel that the Task Force 141 received full pardon from the United States, Vladimir," Boris told him directly, knowing that Makarov had no patience for pleasantries, due to the mere fact that they had been friends and comrades for a long, long time already. "What are you planning to do with that?"

As always, Makarov gave a simple, straight answer. "We burn the Loyalist base to the ground," he said simple, taking a sip of coffee, as if what he was planning was the simplest thing in the world. "I have information that the American army is using their base near the Caucasus Mountains as an entry point. Georgia and Azerbaijan… These are all neutral countries, and they will not stop the Americans from getting to that base, but they would not allow those dogs to set up their own upon their lands. Without this base, the Americans cannot even operate their own counter-invasion."

* * *

MacTavish did not like the idea. "Makarov can easily bring ten thousand troops here and we wouldn't have a chance against them," he said. Makarov would attack this very base the first opportunity he had, and it would be a swift and severe move, to make an example of them to the world, he was sure of it. Raptor contacted them and the Loyalists for this sole purpose. The Loyalist base has to be protected at all costs, because the Americans had no other alternative. The neighboring countries would suffer Russia's wrath if they granted the US armed forces permission to set up their base there.

"It is what we have to work with, Soap," Kamarov said. Even if the Americans had successfully repelled the Russians from their East Coast, it would take more than a week for them to be ready to mobilize to Russia. The worse thing was that the US Army Rangers, who were the closest to them, had been pulled back to America just a day before the invasion had started… "Even if we are currently on our own, we will make a show to those Ultranationalists that they'll never forget."

Price, however, had a very, very bright idea. "The thing with Makarov is that he is very set in his preconceptions towards the situation before him," he told the two men with him. This fact, had been proven by Anya. The late corporal had been driven by vengeance, and Makarov, astounded by her skill and her determination, used her as a double-agent. What he did not know was that she was so plagued from within following the attack on Zakhaev International Airport that she killed herself in the end. There was a highly likely chance that Makarov would be looking at a similar map in Moscow as well… "He thinks that we're just a bunch of rag-tag idiots with guns in our hands, and that we're awfully suicidal. So, I don't think that he'll send a huge amount of men towards us."

* * *

"They are nothing but a few bedraggled rats biting the cage to try to escape," Makarov told Vorshevsky, showing him a digital map of the Caucasus Mountains, and the Loyalist base. Using the software provided, he drew a red circle around a perimeter consisting of rather flat terrain, surrounded by high mountains quite near to where his safehouse was. "Their base is right here, and at highest count, they will only have about 3000 soldiers at the most…"

"What are you planning to do then, Vladimir?" Vorshevsky asked. This man, he was not like Shepherd, his late American counterpart. No, Makarov may have portrayed himself as a cold-hearted terrorist, but this man would not just send his own men to their deaths and leave them when they appeared to have no hope of survival. He was a field man himself, but he knew, that this was one attack that he would not want to concern himself with.

Makarov's answer was simple. "We will bombard them with a few carpet-bombing rounds, and send in a few troops to pick out any survivors. Not a single person must survive."

* * *

"Makarov'll most likely use something that he thinks is most effective of removing us… say, carpet bombing," Price said, puffing out some cigar smoke out of his system. "So we'll have to evacuate the base before he sends his bombers here, retreat into the forests and such… Make him stop the rounds, and then, we'll scare the hell out of them when he least expects it."

* * *

"This is the only base they have," Makarov continued. "The nearest American base is Fire Base Phoenix, all the way in Afghanistan." Ah, Fire Base Phoenix, it had been where Anya had been deployed from, he mused, remembering the "vision" that he had seen the previous night. "They will defend it to the end of their lives."

"And if they run from this battle?" Vorshevsky asked, pointing out a viable probability. The man was content with what little power he had, as a figurehead leader of Russia, but it did not mean that he was in any way, a fool. The most important thing, why Makarov was content with him at the supposed head of the government, was that he was loyal to Zakhaev's cause, unlike the other muddle heads that called themselves Ultranationalists, and he was able to see through the hearts of men with an eye clearer than any other. It was Vorshevsky that enlightened him to the possibility that Anya had made her way into his heart, long before he knew it himself…

The expression on Makarov's face lightened a little, revealing to the President of Russia a slightly diabolical smile that the other man had not seen in a long, long time. "Then, Boris, my friend, we would have gained another base, one that can intimidate our dear neighbors in that region as well."

* * *

"Makarov thinks that he's gonna be the winner of this opening battle, but we'll show him that his style is too flashy, and subtlety can also get what you want, when you want it," Price concluded, content with what they had come out with. "And we'll need a huge amount of luck to pull this shit off."

Kamarov chuckled. "Do not worry Price, as we know, Soap here is extremely lucky, perhaps some of his luck would rub off on us."

"Haha, very funny," MacTavish replied, rolling his eyes.


	5. Caucasus

They were lucky that there was a highly forested area not far from their base, and they were lucky that the Ultranationalists did not have any aircraft that could pick up thermal signatures able to carry out carpet-bombing rounds. This meant that they were relatively safe in the forest, unless they were tipped off, but that would be unlikely.

"Come on, we'd better get a move on before the Ultranationalists get here!" MacTavish bellowed. Thankfully, there were quite a number of Loyalists that could understand English, or he would have a hard time trying to communicate with them. Price understood Russian, but he could not speak the language, and so, would not be much help either.

Roach and Ghost, they were moving some mortars, while Archer and Toad, they were looking for the best places to set up SAM sites. Practically the whole base had been moved into the forests, with surprising ease. "You would've thought that we'll have a hard time moving…" Roach muttered underneath his breath, "What are you guys? Nomads?"

The Loyalist nearest to him merely shrugged. "More or less," he replied with a toothy smile. "With the Ultranationalists hounding us day and night, we have learnt to dismantle practically everything and reassemble them. In fact, it's the third time we've had to retreat into the forests this month!"

_Makarov may not pay attention to the Loyalists, but the others do,_ Ghost remembered Anya saying something similar to that when they quizzed her endlessly on her escapades following the attack on the airport. _Kamarov and his men have adapted to guerilla warfare, which might come in handy_. Come to think about it… that idea might work… Hey, if Makarov was going to do use something as crude as carpet bombing, then, they would not need to show him any class at all.

* * *

The Caucasus Mountains, they were the stuff of legends, a wonder of the natural world.

Green fields in their valleys, snow-capped peaks of ancient volcanoes, blue skies above them, and sapphire lakes with the color of the eyes of the most beautiful woman that he had laid eyes upon... In spring, tiny flowers would appear all over the mountains, where the oak, the ash and the maple would grow, tiny flowers gold like the Sun... It seemed that whenever he closed his eyes, she would dominate his mind...

It was in the Caucasus Mountains where Prometheus had been chained onto the mountainside for the supposed crime of giving Man the gift of Fire. It was in the Caucasus Mountains where the cheeky Monkey King had been trapped under the palm of the Buddha, which became Five-Finger Mountain in Azerbaijan... It was in the Caucasus Mountains, in a small, green valley where he had found the one who would close the dark void of his heart, the young woman, little more than a girl, whose need of vengeance reminded him of his own youth, her resourcefulness and highly apparent talent for warfare, with sapphire eyes and hair of gold...

When he closed his eyes, he could see all these things. He could see the twins that he had seen the previous night, in the "vision" granted to him, either by the mercy of Heaven, or the torture that Hell had condemned him to, to remind him of all the sins that he had done to ensure that they would only be visions. When he closed his eyes, he could see them, running around his safehouse under his watchful eyes while she played with them... He could see her teaching them how to fire a gun, and he could see the two of them in various heated rendezvous (when the children were fast asleep) with her, under the voyeuristic stars, twinkling brightly as they witnessed their passion...

"Makarov..." her voice would cloud his mind, her smile, that infernal smile that held so many secrets, which in a split second could tell of utter seduction, while in the next, could be filled with such melancholic sadness that he could do nothing but wrap his arms around her body, so perfect against his... He would see all this, when he closed his eyes.

And when he opened his eyes, he could no longer see those memories, only the need to defend his own country, and the need to exact his own vangeance, that he had yet to wreak upon the country that deems to have the greatest military force in the world. No matter how much he had loved her, she had chosen to live, bound only to the choices that she had made for herself, and he knew that he would do the same.

The call of the armed forces, it has always called for him... And America, using the accusations of human rights infringement would force him to remove himself from the Russian Army the very moment the Soviet Union had dissipated... He had only been following orders, and they blamed him for genocide, amongst other crimes. And in his exile, he took his time, and learned the dark ways of the underworld and the black markets. It was only then did he catch the eyes of the man who would be his mentor- Imran Zakhaev.

Frankly, he could clearly imagine how Zakhaev would have been at him if he knew that he had fallen in love with a woman, an American no less... For countless times throughout the days he had lived without her existence, he still could not answer how it had been possible for him to fall for a woman young enough to be his daughter, hailing from the country he had vowed to destroy. Perhaps the hand of Fate was cruel indeed...

And it was there in the Caucasus Mountains when everything had been made clear to him, that whatever the reason it had been, once she had given him his soul, he had no choice but to give it back.

However, when morning came, he would have to burn everything near to the Loyalist base in the Caucasus Mountains, marring its majestic landscape. This was the price that he would have to pay, and it was not trivial in any way to him.

* * *

_He was making a big mistake, she could feel it in the wind, and she could see it in his eyes... The Task Force 141 and the Loyalists were not as weak as he thought them to be. They might only have two thousand soldiers, but they had one weapon that he could never dream of having, they had hope._

_It was hope, hope that brought men and women so deep in desperation back from the brink. It was hope that had returned her to the world of the living when she should have died when he had shot her. It was hope that kept the Loyalist movement alive until this day, even when he had thought that they were not even worth the time of others. Because of his lack of hope, or, his lack of faith in hope, which he had lost, at the some point in his life, she knew that he began to make judgements of others and of situations on the spot, and he would stick by them. He had underestimated the Loyalists just as he had overestimated her own abilities._

_However, no matter how she had felt for him, she knew that she could not put her hands on either side of the war. The most she could ever do, was to visit anyone she wished in their dreams, like what she had done to Roach and to him... She could not change the course of destiny even if she had known how it would run."You must help him!" the roses around her pleaded, nudging her with their perfect, bloomed heads. "He would suffer a great defeat if you didn't!"_

_She was adamant. She would not lift even a finger, not even when her butterflies were already waiting in front of the window, ready to pass her message to him. "He has to learn the price of defeat," she told them, already making her choice. She loved him, she loved him greatly, but she knew that sometimes even the smallest grain of sand could tip the scales in the favor of others. _

_"But..."_

_"You are spirits of the world, you shouldn't take sides," she chided the roses and the butterflies coldly. _

_"You love him, don't you?" they asked in answer to her words. _

_"That's why I can't help him," she replied, in a small voice, and said nothing else of the matter, just thankful that he would not lead the operation himself.

* * *

_

It was winter, and deep in the mountains, there was snow everywhere, covering the great trees, and the green grass. As the Ultranationalist bombers flew over the mountains, even the hardest of hearts would take a few moments, just to marvel at the sheer beauty of the scenery.

In the snow-covered forests near the Loyalist base, the Loyalist army and the six members of the Task Force 141 waited for the moment when the bombs would fall upon their base. "Steady…" Price told a few younger soldiers near him when they started to hear the sounds of approaching planes.

And in that moment in time, not even the surrounding beauty could take the minds of each and every soldier there from the task at hand. Their hearts beat, once, twice, thrice… four times, in unison, getting louder and louder until they could even rival the sounds of the approaching Ultranationalist bombers.

"Bomber One, we are reading massive numbers of heat signatures in the forests," the leader of the ground forces said to the leader of the bombers in the air. "Repeat, we have readings of heat signatures in the forests!"

This was bad. Readings in the forest meant that there were people there in the forests. The Loyalists had already known that they would attack!

"Too late, we have to start our bombing now!"

Within seconds, all twenty bombers released their payload, incinerating the entire base. Red flames, joined with black smoke razed the winter's white ground, the fire spreading as it touched every single substance in their way. But still, the Loyalists did not move a single muscle, save for a few teams handling the SAM sites high above them, halfway in the mountains.

"Roach, Ghost, take 'em down!" MacTavish commanded, and just as he had finished his order, they could see about five bombers crashing down from the skies. Finally, things were getting interesting…

* * *

"General!" the soldier doomed to be the harbinger of bad news exclaimed the very moment he saw Makarov. "We have reports of the attack in the Cacausus Mountains." To his utter dread, Makarov seemed to be expecting any sort of news limited only to total victory. This was not his morning at all.

However, with one look on the young soldier's face and Makarov knew what was going on. "You have nothing to fear, soldier," he said calmly, "Just tell me what happened." Defeat was a usual occurrence in war. And he did not need to be Anya to know where he had gone wrong. He himself had underestimated his own enemies, enemies that he should have understood from their heads to their toes, and every strand of hair in between.

"The Loyalists have hidden in the forests and used the mountains as SAM sites," the soldier reported. "They've taken out five of our bombers…"

"Tell the ground troops that they are not to engage the Loyalists in the forests," Makarov said, an idea suddenly coming into his head. "Get Kurkov, and send word that I want to triple the amount of soldiers in the Caucasus. They are to block every single route that to the Loyalists from the mountains…"

Makarov may have made a mistake, but he was no fool. Now that he knew that the Loyalists were hiding in the forests, he could see clearly that they would have used some form of guerilla warfare against his own forces, as they had always done ever since they lost control over Russia. He would just have to see how long they would last without any food or supplies… They would not last a month. If the mountains would not kill them, they would kill one another, in the need of survival.

The Loyalists may have spies in the Ultranationalists, but they did not have their sheer manpower. There were at least five thousand men in the Caucasus Mountains, at various positions, ready to move out against them at any given time. If the Loyalists dared to do anything, they would die in the battlefield…

"We shall see who has underestimated whom…"


	6. Decide

Ash and smoke covered what remained of the Loyalist base at the foot of the Caucasus Mountains, the snow-covered ground was charred beyond belief, the various structures of the base, utterly flattened beyond repair. However, not a single soul had been sacrificed in those grounds, save for the Ultranationalist bombers. Within three seconds of the first run of bombs, five airplanes had been shot down by Loyalist SAM sites, situated halfway up the mountains from various positions.

The bombers, they did not have any time to react. When five of their own had crashed beside the rubble, American aircraft appeared from nowhere, hounding the rest into vicious dog-fights. In the end, only three of the twenty bombers had survived the run…

"Is this your idea of leading us into total victory?" Ivan, the Minister of Defense asked Makarov, standing beside the younger man as they looked at their own planes being battered by SAM sites from numerous directions. "And we have no information about American planes in our country, how did they get here?"

American aircraft? The nearest American plane was most probably in Turkey right now or perhaps in China, where the rest of the US Air Force had been bargaining with the various heads of states of Russia's neighboring countries to grant them permission to cross into Russia from their respective airspaces.

No, Makarov knew that those airplanes were not American. They were from the Loyalists, remnants of a long-forgotten deal between the Loyalists and the American government, back in the day when they, the Ultranationalists were said to be petty terrorists and arms dealers, used to scare unruly children, political rivals and the people of Russia. "They belong to the Loyalists," he told Ivan. "They think that they can deceive us with red, white and blue…"

"And how do you know that they are not real American planes?" Ivan asked Makarov again, seriously losing his patience with the young upstart. He had been considered a prodigy, Vladimir Makarov, only in his late twenties when approached by Imran Zakhaev, and was now the Supreme Commander of the Russian Armed Forces. This meant that in those times, as long as the war held out, he would have the same amount of power as the President had, which made him even more dangerous than before.

But Ivan did not know that it had all been a cover. Makarov was far wiser, and far more in control of himself and the situation that anyone could have imagined. Even until now, he and his other comrades did not know that Makarov 's "loose cannon terrorist" act had been played so well that he was always seen as an extremist radical amongst their ranks. Makarov was the one who orchestrated his own disgrace in his own party's eyes, and the war that would become, no, _is_ the greatest hoax in all of history.

"I know, because our good neighbors do not dare to grant the Americans passage," Makarov told Ivan. The very moment Shepherd had contacted him to launch a war between America and Russia; he already knew that with Russia's quick retaliation, no other country would ever dare to offend her… America was on her own, and without her leader, albeit only a mere Lieutenant-General, the only one who dared to do anything without hesitation, and everything, at whatever cost.

It was at this time, when suddenly, a certain young woman, with relatively low rank, was remembered, and was thanked, although no one ever said it aloud.

"The Loyalists may think that they have the upper hand, they might think that they will be able to outsmart us, but they will all fail," Makarov reassured, indicating towards the screen to their left. "As we speak, we have about five thousand of our men march against them. They will be outgunned, and they will dead by sunrise tomorrow."

* * *

Price cursed. It was not a common thing, to hear the usually calm Captain John Price curse, but it happened anyways. He had, in fact, over-judged their advantages. He had forgotten the fact that the Caucasus Mountains hold great importance to Russia, not because it was where the Loyalists were currently based in, or even that there was some emotional connection between this place and Makarov, but because the Caucasus Mountains had separated Russia from its neighboring countries, forming borders.

They had fortified themselves in the mountains, and now, there was no way out. Word had come from various outposts in the mountains that the Ultranationalists had increased their numbers there, coming in droves and droves. From only a support guard of two hundred, the Ultranationalists now numbered to about five thousand coming their way.

"There has to be a way," Archer said, poring over the maps and the computers laid out before them. Without allies, and any route of escape, they were going to perish, one way or the other. If they attacked the Ultranationalists head on, they would die, while if they remained in the mountains, they would also die, without proper shelter, food, and heat, in the cold, tumultuous winter.

MacTavish was as optimistic as Archer. In fact, he was so optimistic that he said, "Why don't we just meet them head on?" Although he was not incapable of coming out with ingenious stratagems, MacTavish was an uncomplicated soldier. He believed that so long as they had the means, and a chance of survival, however slim, victory would be theirs and their jobs would be completed.

"Have you gone daft?" Price asked. "We'll be all killed out there!"

"At least it's better than dying here," MacTavish reasoned. "We already know that Makarov's sending every single troop in the area towards us, why not fight them all off?"

In fact, when given thought, MacTavish's suggestion came to be rather ingenious. If they had defeated Makarov's forces in the Caucasus Mountains, not only they would have freed themselves that the Ultranationalists had placed upon them, but also, they would have shown the other countries that Russia was not all at peace in her own lands. With the Loyalists still active, there was hope for smaller countries that they could stand against the great might of Russia as well…

Price smiled, and placed a hand on MacTavish's shoulder. He had come a long way, this young lad, from being the dependable sergeant in his team, to become a Captain of equal ability and vision. In a way, he was glad that he was not able to see him rise through the ranks, or he would be exactly like him, in style of leadership and of combat.

"Good enough, we'll do as you say, Soap," Price said. "Makarov'll never know what hit him."

* * *

They said that Russians were hard to kill. They were a fierce race, given to tame the harsh climes of the diverse landscapes of their own lands, every single one of them, they were survivors in their own way.

The Loyalists, they had survived the brutal years of the Soviet Union, and were the rulers of the Russian Federation, embracing freedom and democracy. These souls, however oppressed by their former masters, were always seeking freedom, and their own voice. When the Ultranationalists had risen from the shadows of the former Soviet Union, the Loyalists had sought to protect their own ideals and their own beliefs. They might have been defeated in war, and in the political arena, but still, they survived.

The Ultranationalists, they were also survivors. They were the heirs of the Soviet Union, modern-day proponents of communism, and of control. They had watched from the darkness, how the Loyalists had degraded their own nation into a proxy of the foul West, and vowed "Never again," in the wise words of their late founder, Imran Zakhaev. They were survivors in the previous age, and they would prove that no threat would manage to bring them down again.

Makarov closed his eyes as he thought of how the Loyalists would handle his attack. Would they continue to cower in the woods, or would they start to do the unimaginable, and meet his forces head on? And, as he predicted, he heard her voice again.

"_Be careful, Makarov…" _ she seemed to warn him. _"Everything is not as they seem…"_

Dismissing those words as only signs that his heart, however cold, was still mourning her death, he started to formulate a plan of attack, ignoring the yellow-gold butterfly fluttering about the control room…

Being so far inland, and with the Loyalists having operational SAM sites, he knew that aircraft must not be deployed at all into that region… This battle, would have to be won the traditional way. Soldier against soldier, man against man… Whoever had the greatest will to live and to survive, would win the day. From this, Makarov knew, that it was no longer up to who has the greater skill as a tactician, but rather, who had the greater will to overcome and survive all odds.

* * *

Pvt. James Ramirez

US Army Ranger 75th Battalion.

Russian part of Caucasus Mountains.

* * *

From the corner of his eyes, Ramirez could see a rather stately house below where they had been, on a mountain-highway that would lead them to where the Loyalists were supposed to be. The very moment they had retaken the White House from the Russians back in their own soil, the Army Rangers, they were quickly deployed back into Fire Base Phoenix by Lt. Gen. Shepherd.

"That's Makarov's safehouse, according to Intel," Dunn told the younger soldier. Ramirez knew what was on Dunn's mind. It was Maria, the other corporal in their battalion. It had been two days after Maria had been pulled into the "prima donna" squad when she was announced to be one of the "terrorists" which had attacked the Russian airport, which caused most of their battalion to pass it off as a bad joke.

Maria was a soldier, straight and true, she would never be a terrorist, all of them reasoned with what had been given to them. And they were right. After Shepherd had been "assassinated" by "war criminals", codename Raptor, which all of them had a share in saving, had come to Fire Base Phoenix and told them everything. Maria had been used by Shepherd to start the war with Vladimir Makarov, and had used every inch of her life to kill Shepherd after she found out that she had been betrayed.

"You think that Maria was here?" Ramirez asked Dunn, reminding most of all, Maria's ready smile, which drove the rest of the guys crazy, like she was going to play a prank on them, but the prank never happened. He remembered Raptor saying something along the lines of Maria having "somewhat complex" ties with the terrorist, who was now made the Supreme Commander of the Russian Army, and often wondered what kind of ties they had per se. He remembered Maria joking with them that she was chosen not only because she topped the Pit's time, but she could speak flawless Russian (due to an extra credit assignment in her schooling days), and that she was supposed to "melt off" a supposedly cold-hearted terrorist…

"She would've burnt the thing down on the spot," Foley said, interrupting their conversation. As Maria's superior, he knew her the best. Allen was a good kid, fiercely loyal and highly intelligent. She would never have done anything like what Raptor had told them. She would never associate with an Ultranationalist, even if Shepherd did betray them. But, he believed that Maria would be the one who would notice Shepherd's betrayal. The girl had a sharp nose for the actions and motivation of others. She always had.

Dunn chuckled at their Sergeant's words. "Yeah, she probably would," he replied, remembering how Maria had so valiantly defended the school when another group of Rangers had been pinned down by the OpFor back in Afghanistan. If Maria had been alive, things would be a little different. She would watch over their backs, like the sniper she was, and bounce into action if they were in any sort of trouble…

"Well, at least she's at a better place right now," Ramirez mused. A soldier's death was hardly mentioned, but it was greatly felt. A gust of wind blew past him as they marched down the mountain beside one of the tanks. Already, they could hear the sounds of gunshots from below the mountain.

"_Rangers lead the way," _Maria's soft voice seemed to ring in the 75th's heads. "_Show those assholes what you can do, boys."

* * *

_HAN: Thanks to ecto1B for her kind review and support!


	7. Battle

Cpl. Dunn

US Army Rangers 1st Bn. 75th Regiment.

Caucasus Mountains Battlefield.

* * *

Dunn could have sworn that he heard Maria's voice. The two of them, they had been the greatest of friends, well, only ever since they joined the training program for the Rangers, but that was beside the point. He knew Maria, and no matter what happened, she would always try to get out of any bad situation alive… He just could not believe that she would just kill herself, even after she'd killed Shepherd.

Shepherd… He never liked the man in the first place. Sure, the guy was a good tactician and stuff, but he never cared about the people who served under him. Every other soldier was well, every other soldier to him, expendable, and not worth a second glance. They said that he'd cracked after losing 30,000 Marines five years ago in the Middle East, but they didn't know that he'd cracked that much as to associate with the world's most highly valued terrorist to start a war between Russia and America.

"_What I'm gonna tell you now may or may not sit well with you, but you have to listen to me,_" Codename Raptor told their regiment in Fire Base Phoenix the very moment they had arrived their after retaking the White House. _"The Lt. General that you served, Shepherd, was the bastard that betrayed us all. The CIA's recovered Vladimir Makarov's DSM, and we found that he was the guy who hired him to attack the Russian airport. Your late comrade, Maria Allen, codename "Anya", was betrayed as well."_

Dunn knew that Maria would never have taken a course of action that she had not believed in, and thus, he believed whatever Raptor told him and his teammates. They, the First Battalion of the 75th US Army Ranger Regiment, had received clearance to enter Russia through the Caucasus Mountains from Georgia, and now, there they were, in the heart of a valley where a fierce battle was taking place.

It was man against man, faction against faction, against an open plain in the snow. White, was stained with red, everywhere the eyes could see, and not only that, thick smoke and ash charred the landscape… This must have been where the Loyalist base had once stood. At this point of time, Dunn's hatred for the Ultranationalist Russians increased. They seemed to be incapable of mercy and of compassion. The Loyalists, they were almost defunct. Why can't the Ultranationalists just leave them alone?

"Alright, ladies," Foley's voice barked through the comms. "We're here, and we're gonna help the Loyalists and the Task Force 141 out." The Task Force 141 had been closely tied to the US Army Rangers, because the bulk of their operatives had come from the Rangers, due to Shepherd commanding both factions. And if he had remembered clearly, there was another Sergeant who had been transferred to the 141 as well… Oh well, he'd have to look for the guy later. "Dunn… Ramirez, take out that BTR!"

Dunn and Ramirez quickly jumped to work. Taking out the Predator Drone controls, Dunn guided the AGM towards the said BTR, while Ramirez covered his teammate. "Holy hell, where did that Predator come from?" Foley could hear a very, very familiar voice. It had been one of their own, he just knew it.

"Doesn't matter, mate," came another voice. The owner of that voice could not be seen from the smoke caused by the now-burning BTR. "As long as the thing's down, we'll be able to get to MacTavish and Price in time!"

The name "MacTavish" was familiar to Foley. He had met the man before, the Captain of the Task Force 141. The guy was rather impressive, to say the least, and had risen from being to a Sergeant in the British SAS to being the CO of a Task Force of international elites. This guy, was the guy who had killed the former Ultranationalist chairman, Imran Zakhaev, as well, and was almost a living legend amongst the NATO troops that he had known.

When the smoke cleared, the US Army Rangers could see a man wearing sunglasses and a skull-motif balaclava, standing beside yet another individual that all of them had recognized. "Sanderson!" Foley exclaimed, recognizing the smaller man with the goggles on, carrying in ACR with ACOG sights.

"Friends of yours, Roach?" the masked man asked, to that, Sanderson promptly nodded. However, he seemed rather… unconvinced. That was perhaps, due to the fact that they had been once double-crossed by Shepherd… Roach… It's been a long time since Foley's heard that nickname. Sanderson was called that, because no matter how unlucky he got in the field, he had an almost miraculous rate of recovery, and would be back in the field not long after he had sustained those injuries.

"They're from the US Army Rangers, Ghost," Roach said to the other man. "Seems like America really does care for our sorry asses."

Reluctantly, Ghost shook hands with Foley. "Alright then, mates. Come on, we'll bring you to Price and MacTavish," he said, "Perhaps the old man won't be as jumpy when he knows that you're here."

* * *

Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Caucasus Mountains Battlefield.

* * *

To say that MacTavish was an experienced soldier was an understatement. This man had braved some of the world's toughest missions and survived. Every single mission that had taken lead in the field as the Captain of the Task Force 141, had been crucial in tipping the scales between America and Russia, and this man, he had seen it all.

However, MacTavish had to admit that his experience in open warfare like this, was highly limited, being a Spec-Ops soldier. The falling snow had not been a hindrance, but it was how… exposed everyone was to the enemy. They were fighting in the middle of a valley, and what was worse was that there was completely no hint of cover at all.

The Ultranationalists, they were relentless, and they came in waves, without any hint of stopping. It was like those war-movies that he had watched when he was a kid. Two lines, just clashing against one another. The only difference was that they were using guns, while in the movies had only swords and arrows… Sometimes he wondered, if Man had ever really progressed from the ancient tales of Slavic tribes fighting against one another…

"MacTavish, look who's here!" he heard Roach call out to him, running towards him from below the hill he was on. The kid looked immensely happy, and MacTavish knew that it was a good sign. MacTavish turned around, and found Sergeant Foley of the US Army Rangers standing before him, and immediately gave the man a brotherly hug. They knew one another, and it was times like these that made him extremely thankful for that.

"You and your boys came at the right time," he told Foley. "But how did you get here before the rest of the invasion?"

"We got clearance from Georgia to come here through the mountains," Foley answered. "And… we heard about Maria, so we figured that we outta help you, in her memory." It took MacTavish a while to recall which "Maria" Foley had been talking about. It was only then when he remembered that the Anya he knew, was named Maria Allen. Outside of the Task Force 141, no one used callsigns… "Well, enough of the bro-mance shit. What do we have to do?"

MacTavish smirked. "I have an idea," he said, looking towards the droves and droves of tanks. "Do you have any explosives with you?"

* * *

Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist

Russian Armed Forces Command Center

* * *

He could not believe it. Every single variable had been accounted for, every single possibility analyzed… But he did not expect was that the US Army Rangers were able to cross through the Mountains from Georgia to join the Loyalists in battle... This time, he knew that his chances of winning this battle, was not as high as he had expected.

The US Army Rangers, was not like the Task Force 141. These men, they were highly proficient in open warfare, because they were the elite infantry unit of the American army. Throughout the modern times, the Army Rangers were always first to arrive in action, and they knew how to take care of any incoming opponents easily. That was why his Spetsnaz was unable to take the US East Coast (however, that error was made those bumbling fools in the Kremlin, and not him).

"I want to know how many BTRs have they taken out," Makarov told the soldier standing next to him. "Have the mountain teams dismantle the SAM sites. I want MiGs in there to raise a firestorm!" When faced with equal numbers, victory would lie in the hands of those who could surprise the enemy into confusion…

Not twenty minutes later, a soldier came out to him and reported, "General Makarov, Unit Three has confirmed the destruction of the SAM site in Sector Alpha!" One down, and… God knows how many left. Makarov sighed and nodded for the soldier to get back to his seat. Deep in his gut, he knew that it would be too late to dismantle the SAM sites now, but he would do what he could to hold out as long as possible.

"Sir, SAM site in Sector Sierra is out!"

Good, another one… Makarov looked at the computer screens before him. If memory served, there were about five of SAM sites in the mountain, and with two already down, he knew that the Loyalists would no longer be confidant of their own ability to withstand any airstrikes, for the tanks that the US Army Rangers brought with them, they were not anti-air ones. Thank God…

One by one, the mountain-teams managed to complete their task with little consequences, and the very moment he gave the order, about ten MiGs of various makes went soaring towards the battlefield. "Calling all MiG fighters," Makarov said. "I want you to destroy the tanks the Rangers have with them."

* * *

"Holy crap!" Dunn cursed. "Where the hell did the MiGs come from?"

"They must've have dismantled the SAM sites!" Kamarov exclaimed. "I'm not getting any signals from them!" This was not good… Without the SAM sites, they were literally without an advantage against the Ultranationalists, and were nothing but sitting ducks for the MiGs unless they did something drastic.

Price knew that they were going to have to find a new way to fight this one out… However, just as he shot a bullet into an enemy soldier's head, he heard a very, very loud explosion, several of them, in fact, in which the Russian tanks before them had exploded one after another…

"Soap, please tell me that it was your idea," Price commed MacTavish, happy to receive a roar of laughter in reply. MacTavish had always been an expert with explosives, preferring to use C4 when cornered. MacTavish had been able to adapt his Spec-Ops training in the open battlefield and use it to take out the Russian tanks, which was something that he could expect very much from his former subordinate.

"You know me too well, old man," MacTavish replied, the bright smile on his face evident in his voice.

* * *

The battle had been going on for hours, and Makarov knew that it was going nowhere. Both sides, were now evenly matched, but he knew that it was more than that. The US Army Rangers, and his own men, they had been moved from great distances to the battlefield, and by now, they would have tired greatly. If this went on any longer, he knew that even his own men would die quickly.

"This cannot continue," Makarov announced. "Pull our forces back, get them set up a camp near my safehouse and regroup there. If we carry on, only more of our men will die."

And this was where Vladimir Makarov was different than the rest of the leaders that their men had known, and fought. Zakhaev may have been a revolutionary; he had been no different than Shepherd, in that they cared little for the welfare of their soldiers. Makarov, he had been a soldier himself, and he knew, what was it like to fight in the front lines. This man would lead the army right there in the battlefield if he could. At least he recognized that the lowest of soldiers formed the backbone of their army, and their strength depended on their morale.

"Vladimir, you cannot be serious!" Ivan protested, aghast at the thought that Makarov would even dare to think of pulling the troops back. "We are on the verge of victory!"

Makarov shook his head. "We have lost twenty bombers, and at least a thousand men. All of them had marched, Ivan, _marched_ towards the foot of the mountains to hammer the base onto the ground. They have fought for hours and hours right there in the battlefield while you have stood here doing nothing. Those are my men out there and your countrymen, they will be pulled back. Besides, it would be dishonorable, to continue to batter a hapless enemy."

What Makarov had already decided, could not be turned back, and he knew, that if their losses had been heavy that day, it would be even heavier for the Loyalists… He knew, that although he had withdrawn his soldiers first, victory did not belong to them. No, this time, a strange word would enter the results of the battlefield.

It was known as a "draw".


	8. Sides

"_This place is beautiful!" she exclaimed the very moment she entered his safehouse. Her sapphire eyes, they could see the beauty of the elegant, stately fortress hidden within the mountains through the boxes of equipment, the vast numbers of men going in and out of the place, as well, as the signs that they had been living there for a long, long time. The entire structure had high ceilings, and large windows, the living room had been filled with computers, news clippings… She could even see the plans for the attack on the airport… _

_He smiled, and kissed her discreetly on the temple, noting a few knowing snickers on the part of his men. There was no doubt that those bumbling gossips, Anatoly and Viktor had told them that he had taken a strange liking towards her. "I'm glad that you like it," he replied. "I know that you're tired, come, my dear."_

_Taking her hand, he led her upstairs, carrying her bag of things with his free hand. It was not much, only a second catsuit, and an M4A1 that the Loyalists had given her, along with the appropriate ammo, and a few kinds of medication. He brought her to his room, the only place that was clean and not littered with papers, cellphones, ammo, and whatever knick knacks that about fifty men would leave without a woman's touch. "You'll have to share this room with me when you are here," he told her, after he had closed the door. "I do not trust my men with a woman as beautiful as you are."_

_Chuckling, she brought an arm around his neck, clasping her fingers on his shoulder. "And can you trust yourself with me?" she asked him almost teasingly, her sapphire eyes, almost gleaming. He kissed her, a full, passionate kiss, to prove his point, and she was satisfied with his answer. _

_They had remained like that for a few long moments, exchanging sweet nothings into one another's ears, as if they had been lovers long parted. That evening, he told her that she was to depart for Rio de Janeiro in the next morning to take out Alejandro Rojas; it had been a mission that she had accepted without another word. _

_And when night came, that was when he started to see the signs. She had just emerged from her bath when she retrieved some pills that he instantly recognized. "The Loyalists must have taken great care of you," he said, watching her as she took the medicine with a glass of water. She nodded, and smiled that smile that was so iconic of her, replying that Kamarov would not allow her to leave unless she took the medicines with her, although she no longer felt any more pain where he had shot her. _

_She had assumed that those pills were painkillers, it must have been that she was not aware of their nature. When he had learnt that prolonged inability to dream had staggering effects on the human mind, he had acquired huge doses of this particular pill to "deal" with the victims that he had wanted to torture. However, when used in prescribed dosages, the effect would be temporary… But what could she have seen in her sleep to have needed such powerful drugs to even sleep?

* * *

_

If only he had seen it earlier… Perhaps, she would still be here at that moment… But he knew that it was impossible. If she was still alive, she would have been torn between helping him, and fighting alongside the ones that she had gave her loyalty to, the Task Force 141… She could have already seen the outcome of the war, and chose the best way out…

He could see the new species of butterfly flying all about the room, like the other one in Moscow… Somehow, he could not help but to wonder whether those things represented Anya… They had been discovered in Afghanistan and Russia the day that she had passed on… And whenever he seemed to have thought about her, they would appear before him…

The men, they were all assembled in tents all around his safehouse, now cleaned of any form of equipment, which had been moved to about two of those tents. Instead, there entire place was filled with sleeping bags, for those who were injured and needed medical attention. In fact, he had moved into one of the tents himself, to provide space for those who had needed him.

Everywhere he walked, he received curt, polite nods, and he had nodded back. _"They have great respect for you, I can tell," _Anya's words rang in his head, and he knew exactly why. Unlike those useless fools in the Kremlin, he knew what it was like to be a soldier, to be a man in the field. Hence, he chose to eat, and sleep like one of the men, it was a choice that he had made since day one.

He went into the tent that was used for dining purposes, and had gotten a tray of food for himself, just like the rest of the men. He took a place in the center of the arranged tables, and ate among them, much to the initial shock of those around him. "Do not let me bother you, please," he told them with a chuckle, and they continued to eat in silence, until he saw one of the men take out a photograph of his family, of his wife and his three children. "They are beautiful," he told the man rather appreciatively. "Your son looks like your wife."

The man nodded, and thanked him. "They're all waiting for me, I don't know what'll happen to them if anything happened to me." The man was young, there was no doubt that he had married young. "My son's only three, and my daughter's five…"

"Do not worry," Makarov told him. "We will see an end to this war, I swear to you." At those words, he knew that each and every single eye there, was focused on him. "They might have been able to enter our lands, but I promise you with my life that they will never take Moscow, the heart of our great mother." It was then, when he knew that he had the undivided attention of his men, each and every single one of them. "We have already decimated their East Coast, and we will show them that the sons and brothers of Russia will never fail to defend all that is dear to us…"

A loud chorus of cheers chorused throughout the tent, and Makarov allowed the ruckus to continue for a few moments. He knew well how to rouse the morale of his own men. He knew that no matter what happened, they would look towards him for leadership and for guidance. And he would. He would lead them to glory, and they will prove to the world that Russia was not as weak as the world had thought her to be.

* * *

"A toast, my brothers, to the brave First Battalion of the US Army Rangers!" Kamarov said in English and in Russian, back at the makeshift base that they had erected after they had salvaged what they could from the Loyalist base, which luckily, had only been partially destroyed, due to the destruction of the bombers before they could make a return run. As it was cold, they broke out on the vodka and drank to their heart's content.

"Aww, man, don't," Foley said. He was not much of a drinker, and could not even take three glasses of red wine before feeling tipsy, much less the amount of vodka that the Russians were giving him. "It's what we are supposed to do."

However, Kamarov seemed to disagree. "No, my friend, you have saved my comrades, and our friends from the 141," he replied. "I am eternally grateful for your timely arrival and presence." There was a jovial smile on the Russian's face, as if that his base had not been destroyed at all.

MacTavish just walked over to Kamarov and took out the bottle of vodka from his hands and said, "Alright mate, you've clearly had too much for yourself, don't push it over to Foley."

"Heh, he thinks I can't hold my liquor," Kamarov said to the guy next to him. "Alright, Captain Soap, let's see how you fare with the rest of the bottle." MacTavish rolled his eyes, and looked towards his boys from the 141, who were all egging him to accept the challenge.

Price, however, was not too sure about it. Wait a minute; he had never seen MacTavish drink, ever. "The Captain's… the opposite of Foley, to put it nicely," Archer explained to the older Captain. "He's won more drinking games that we can even count."

And thus, MacTavish started to empty the contents of the vodka down his throat, ignoring the burning sensation that it brought totally, leaving some of the men to wonder what this man was actually made of. "Dude, seriously!" Dunn said to Toad and Ghost. "Your Captain's practically all muscle, no wonder he can drink a whole bottle of vodka neat!"

The men from the 141 practically burst out into a bout of heavy laughter. "You know, I've never thought of that before," Ghost mused. It could be MacTavish's high rate of metabolism at work, which was why he could practically drink alcohol as other people would drink water…

Outside the tent, Roach was taking a smoke when he was spotted by Ramirez. "Hey there," Roach greeted him, offering the kid a cigarette, which he politely declined. "I heard that you guys were the ones who recaptured the White House. Good job."

Ramirez flushed a little. Being the Private, he was not used to much praise, but it had been a truly… exhilarating time, even though it was supposed to be outright traumatic and shocking as well. "Thanks," he replied shyly. "There's something I wanna ask you…"

"Fire away," Roach told the kid, remembering that not so long ago, he was the FNG as well. Things were indeed awkward, whenever you were starting out on something, particularly in the army.

"Was Maria… really an Ultranationalist double agent?"

Roach had to be honest, that question took him quite aback. It seemed to him that Anya, whom the Rangers knew as Maria, had been rather an important part of their team. In fact, she had to be, seeing that Dunn was her best friend and Ramirez seemed to look up to her, by the way he had chosen his words. Taking a deep breath, and a deep puff of his cigarette, Roach said, "From what I know, she went straight to Makarov the moment she recovered from her injuries, but she was just working _together_ with him and not _for_ him."

MacTavish and Price had told them that Anya herself had denied being an Ultranationalist. Her return into the ranks of the 141, had been targeted at the them, to increase their caution towards Shepherd, whose deception she had known very early on. And in all honesty, Roach knew more than anyone that she succeeded in doing that. The only way she could have been discovered to be an American agent, was that she was betrayed by Shepherd. And not only that, since she was not the only person incapacitated in the attack on the airport, the Russian government could have discovered that it was a Russian op, and not an American one. That would explain that every single one, Makarov, Shepherd, and Vorshevsky himself, had been in cahoots with one another.

"She's like a big sister to me," Ramirez told Roach. "I joined the army when my parents died, and she took care of me, ever since I got into the Rangers." His improved ability to

"_Let's see how lucky you are, kiddo,_" Anya once said to Roach, helping him to jump over a ledge when the Gulag was crumbling down due to the heavy fire from the Navy.

And when Ramirez thanked him, and walked away, Roach saw another one of those yellow butterflies that he had seen after Anya's memory appeared before him. "Take care of Ramirez for me, Roach," he almost heard her voice. "Thank you."


	9. Peace

Russo-American War/3rd Russian Civil War

Day 177 – Morning

* * *

The war had taken more than its toll upon Russia and America. The war had plunged the entire world into utter darkness. When news had spread from the Caucasus Mountains that the US-Loyalist forces had managed to repel the Russian Federal Army's attack upon the Loyalist base, several countries started to pledge their alliance with either Russia or America. Coalition forces had been formed on either side, the NATO nations with the US, and the former Soviet Nations with the Russia, backed financially by China, armed by North Korea and Brazil.

He saw before his eyes, countless sons of Russia, and of the other countries clash against one another in the heat of battle, only to reach an unbreakable standstill. Both sides, had been equally strong, and even after almost six months of fighting, Moscow still remained standing, and the Kremlin still in one piece. However, this did not mean that victory was upon his hands, no. Makarov knew that the price of war had to be paid fully in blood. His price for starting this war, had been the life of the woman that he loved so fiercely and deeply, however short their time together had been, and the price that each and every single nation that chose to take part in this bloodbath, was the lives of their sons and daughters…

The war had already claimed ten thousand lives from each side, the highest amount of casualties in a recent war… Makarov knew that there was no longer a point to continue the senseless fighting. He could see it in the eyes of his own men, that they were tired, demoralized, and brutalized by the horrors of war. For six months, there had not been a day when there was not a battle being fought in the vast country, not a single day when the grounds of his hallowed nation was not soiled by the blood of hundreds.

Even he, had grown tired of this standstill, and he knew, that with both forces equally strong, there would be no end to this war.

"The rate of desertion is increasing day by day," Ivan complained to him during that day's meeting. "Why aren't we making progress on driving our enemies back?"

Makarov did not even look at the man when he answered his question. "And when you are stating the highly obvious, the Americans are asking themselves why they can't push us out of Moscow… This war has no point to continue."

"And you were the one who started it," Kurkov shot back. "Do you think that our eyes are blind, Makarov? You had made a pact with that US general to attack our own people. Now, you have your war, and you want to end it, just like that?"

Vorshevsky turned his gaze towards his old comrade. Makarov, he was still as calm as ever, even if Kurkov could have struck a chord in him that he should never had struck the first place. Open war between the US and Russia had been Makarov's goal when both countries had been in tense relations, and now that all out-war had broken out, and the strength of both nations clearly on display to the eyes of the world, Makarov had already accomplished more than his own vengeance, he had achieved his goals as well.

With every single son and daughter of the Western world that their sons and daughters had slaughtered upon the battlefield, Makarov had shown the world that Russia was still as powerful as ever. And with every single day that the Americans and their UN-Coalition forces had failed to take Moscow and burn down the Kremlin, he had proven that no single country could ever take what it wanted from Russia without paying the price.

"This nation is not your own, Vladimir," another said. "Even if you have no love for the Americans, think of your own countrymen! They are dying before your very eyes, just because of your need for revenge!" This man, Makarov respected. Although Zakhaev did not approve of him much, finding him too "soft hearted", Makarov knew that he would not take a course of action if it had no benefit to the peoples of Russia.

"And that is why I will stop what I had started," Makarov replied. "I am sure that the Americans have lost all taste for war, they will not even dare to move a muscle after this." He knew, Price and MacTavish, their attacks were no longer as aggressive as they had been, and he knew that they would do everything they could do reach a point where they would have to push for the ending of this war.

However, there were still doubts. "And if we stop this war, what the world will think of us?" another person asked. "Are we the victors, or are we the losers, if we choose to sound the ending of this… bloodbath, as you would call it, before the Americans?"

Makarov already knew the answer to that. It had already been decided ever since the first battle in the Caucasus Mountains. It was a draw. With the Russian Armed Forces guarding the northern reaches of the country, and the UN-Loyalist-US Coalition having conquered the south, there was nothing that each side could do to expand their area of control. In the six months that the Americans and their allies had started the counter-invasion upon Russia, three, had been focused upon taking Moscow, but they had not been able to progress any further…

"It is a draw," Vorshevsky concluded. "They know that they can't win this, and neither can we… If we stop first, and call for a ceasefire, maybe perhaps the grandchildren of our grandchildren would remember that we did this due to humanitarian reasons." He, too, was tired; tired of his own brothers fighting against one another, fighting against the one man that they owe all their current power to. Makarov had already shown them and the world what he was capable of, and he knew that his friend was now feeling emptier than ever, now that all his goals and ambitions had been attained. "Vladimir, call for a ceasefire."

* * *

"Sirs, it's Makarov."

Raptor, Price, Kamarov, MacTavish and Foley looked at the soldier who delivered that particular message. Makarov? Was that a freaking joke? "Patch him in, Private," Raptor told the young man, who immediately went to do as he was told. Within seconds later, Makarov's visage appeared upon the large projector screen, his expression as cold as ever, but they could see that he, like them, had hints of weariness and tiredness.

"Gentlemen, I have a preposition for you," Makarov said the very moment the connection had been established. "I am sure that your own forces have been utterly battered by mine, and I assure you, that we will not press you further on the condition that you return to your own countries."

Price shook his head. Makarov was as businesslike as always. "You mean that you're tired of all this nonsense, and you wanna stop this, here and now," he translated the Russian's intentions into clearer words. "And I was on the impression that you were the one who started this, Makarov."

At Makarov's end, Vorshevsky tried hard to stop himself from grinning as he watched Makarov scowl. Price could be the only person in the world who could actually infuriate him with the same words used by those who had actually tried to do so. "Price, we all know that not a single soldier can ever continue fighting like this," Makarov replied. "Your men are as demoralized as mine."

Now, that, could not be denied, regardless of whatever trite jabs that Price could have hurled at Makarov. For 177 days, the Americans had fought, beside their comrades against Russia, be it in the dark, or in the vast open battlefields that they themselves had created, none of them, could ever go on.

It was not the length of the war that brought them down, it was that blasted fact that both sides were so evenly matched that every single skirmish seemed to be pointless. For every single city that the Coalition forces had taken, the Russian Army would take out their outposts that they had surrounding those cities. They had been right there, camped in front of Moscow, for three months, and yet, not an inch of progress had been made…

"What are your terms?" MacTavish asked, knowing that Makarov would have a large lists of conditions that he would ask of them.

"That the United Nations would not set down any war tribunals after this war," Makarov said. "You will free all POWs that you have, and I will do the same, while you have three weeks to leave our borders completely." His voice was strong and steadfast, different from what they had heard before. This was the Vladimir Makarov that was the leader of the Ultranationalists in the shadow, how he truly was, hidden from the world. "And I, will retire fully from the army, and will have nothing to do with the Ultranationalists any longer. If you can do it in two days, I shall halt the culling of the Loyalists as well."

Those that heard those words, could not believe it even if Makarov had personally went there to speak to them and slapped them four times on each side of their face. Not only Makarov was offering a ceasefire, he was offering the ending of his own activities as a peace offering, which meant that he would no longer seek to destroy the USA and whatever he had stood before ever since he started his terrorist-cum-political-cum-underworld-gangster career.

"And if we do not comply?" Kamarov asked in English, for the convenience of all.

"This war shall continue, and frankly, the world will crumble as a result," Makarov replied, straight to the point, directly addressing the issue raised. Russia and America were two of the world's greatest countries, and when the war, had claimed more than just lives, it had once again separated the world into two blocs, the West and the East, the globalized, and the nationalist… It was just another form of proof that when given the chance, Man would just choose to divide themselves into various factions for whatever reasons that fitted them.

But more than anything, this war had brought out the sheer ugliness of mankind, drawn out of the need for vengeance. For vengeance, men would risk everything, even the lives of their own countrymen, to stage a bloody war between two countries, for vengeance, formerly loyal soldiers would cast away their identities and work with their enemies, for vengeance, two nations had wasted six months, and countless lives…

This war… had to end.

However, Raptor was still not convinced. Makarov seemed to have something on the edge of his tongue, something that he had been meaning to say, but found not the words to say, or he had been restraining himself. "If you have anything else, you'd better spit it out," he warned, not trusting him one bit.

"That species of butterfly that has been newly discovered," Makarov said. "I wish for it to be named after she who has done service to both our nations, by removing that bastard from the world."

Price knew that butterfly he had been talking about. It had been all over the news that in sites like Zakhaev International Airport, the Caucasus Mountains and even in Afghanistan, near Site Hotel Bravo had been, a species of butterfly had appeared, as if overnight. No one had been able to place a name for this strange species of butterfly, or even where they had come from, and hence, no one was able to name the little yellow-gold beings with the iconic sapphire eyespots on their wings.

Although Anya had only been active in the war for the two weeks, she was the one who killed Shepherd, enabling a full CIA inspection on the General. Without that, Raptor could never have discovered that the Task Force 141 was innocent, and that they had already sided with the Loyalists. If the American Army marched straight towards Moscow, the results could have been disastrous…

"You really do love her, don't you?"

Makarov did not remember who was it that said it, Price, or MacTavish, but he did not answer verbally, only nodding silently. And that had been that one nod that ended the war, and started a new age of peace, when at that very moment, before the Ultranationalist High Council, he had resigned from his position as the Supreme Commander of the Armies of the Russian Federation, fully delving into the shadows of the world, never to be heard of again.

The next day, he had appeared in Ithaca, New York, being three items, a locket, a badge, and a disk, to a little suburban home, where the owner's young daughter, had been the first casualty of that war. When he had returned, he would throw the first handful of Anya's ashes into the heart of Moscow, taking his time to complete the mission that she had given to him, in the sight of the _Anyamaria Corporalis_ butterflies, named after the young Corporal who had started the war, and had stopped his bleeding heart.

* * *

HAN: So, here's the end of "Faithful". The actual purpose of this fic, was to show how Makarov is not so wimpy terrorist from the games, and the transition between "Beautiful" and the ending of "Remembered Words", and to solidify Anya's place within the memories of those that she had known. Thanks for reading, and please tell me everything that you feel about this fic. Thanks!


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